


In media res

by AirgiodSLV



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: This has been building for a while. They’ve taken the edge off with late-night caresses beneath the covers, but they’ve been wound too tight - over Booker, over Andy, over each other - to really let go and release the pressure.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 32
Kudos: 445





	In media res

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [War Games](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887916) by [AirgiodSLV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV). 



> This is a missing scene from [War Games](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887916), though it stands alone. It exists entirely because I was thinking about Nicky/sword care, which turned into thinking about Nicky/Joe care, which turned into this.

They’re already kissing when they thud into the front door, grinning into each other’s mouths, the captured flag slung over Joe’s shoulder. Joe fumbles for the doorknob to let them inside because Nicky’s hands are cradling Joe’s head and he doesn’t seem inclined to move them.

They do break apart when the door opens, doing an automatic sweep of the living room and listening for any sound out of place. They’ve been burned too recently and too badly to lower their guard completely. Joe is grateful it doesn’t take long for him to check the perimeter alarms, because while Nicky has one of the paintball guns held casually at the ready in one hand, his other hand is now on Joe’s arse.

“Clear,” Joe reports, and he even gets most of the word out before Nicky is on him again, discarding weapons and gear without much care for where they land.

On his third attempt - Nicky isn’t making coordination easy, and has yet to break the kiss that’s carried them from the alarm panel by the door to their bedroom - Joe manages to get the t-shirt they’ve been using as a flag hooked onto their doorknob, which should be a clear enough signal if anyone really needs one.

Nicky shuts their bedroom door by pushing Joe up against it, and Joe hears the muffled slither of the shirt falling to the floor on the other side. He thinks the others will still get the idea. They bite at each other’s mouths, wet and hungry, until they have to let go for long enough to peel their shirts over their heads before they collide together again.

This has been building for a while. They’ve taken the edge off with blowjobs in the shower and late-night caresses beneath the covers, but they’ve been wound too tight - over Booker, over Andy, over each other - to really let go and release the pressure.

He wants to run his hands all over Nicky, to reassure himself once again that Nicky is alive and whole, but Nicky has similar ideas and is plastered against Joe’s back, his weight pinning Joe to the door. Joe closes his eyes and sinks into it, pushing back just enough to encourage the press of Nicky’s hips against his arse.

“The way you move…” Nicky breathes the words against Joe’s skin, his fingers splaying wide to frame Joe’s shoulder blades and his lips drifting between them.

Joe’s mouth curls into a smile, his eyes closing to better enjoy the reverent way Nicky’s kisses trail down his spine. He’s not surprised that’s what set Nicky off, watching him engage with Andy. Learning to fight together had been their first love language, before their tongues had curled around shared words.

“I was swinging a stick,” Joe reminds him, repressed laughter in his voice at the memory of the lightweight wooden dowel.

“I could see your blade,” Nicky answers, and his thumbs stroke upward along both sides of Joe’s spine with enough pressure to make him groan.

This isn’t new - very little about the way their bodies can fit together is new, after so long together - but it has been a while since Nicky has devoted this much attention to the restless, flexing muscles of Joe’s shoulders and back.

“I’m surprised she fell for it. She knows you better than that.” Joe’s voice has gone breathless, which has a lot to do with the lines Nicky is licking up his shoulder blades, and the cool shiver of his exhalation over Joe’s damp skin.

He’s replaying the fight in his mind now, the subtle shift of Nicky’s weight that could have taken him off-balance, or opened his guard, and had instead been a feint and an invitation, one so familiar Joe hadn’t needed to think before slicing through the air where he knew Andy was about to be.

“She and Nile work well together. She’s coming along, Nile.”

“Yusuf,” Nicky says, his lips forming the shape of the word on Joe’s skin. “I don’t want to talk about Nile.”

Nicky stretches Joe’s arms out over his head by running strong hands from his shoulders to his wrists. He doesn’t even pause before turning his palms so their fingers can weave together, hands clasping against the door. Joe doesn’t last for more than two breaths before he’s twisting around, arms crossing above his head, blindly seeking Nicky’s mouth.

Joe enjoys lavishing attention on the love of his life as much as anyone, but it’s never stopped being a thrill when Nicky turns that back on him. In the right mood, Nicky approaches lovemaking with a single-minded focus and intensity that takes Joe’s breath away.

He doesn’t need to ask what Nicky wants, because it’s clear in his eyes, in his hands on Joe’s hips, and the press of his body guiding Joe down onto the bed. He sits up, chasing Nicky’s mouth, and Nicky crawls after him to kneel between his legs, hands already deft and quick at his belt. They tangle together trying to get each other’s clothes off until Nicky resolves the issue by easing Joe onto his back and stripping both of them.

The front door opens, but Joe can already hear Andy’s familiar voice along with Nile’s, so he doesn’t let it distract him from the way Nicky’s deep, consuming kisses are driving every other thought out of his head. His hands are spread over Joe’s ribs, mapping out planes of muscle, and if he gives Joe’s chest the same amount of devoted attention he paid to Joe’s back, Joe might actually lose his mind. He gropes for the bedside table until Nicky gets the unsubtle hint and sits back, retrieving the lube they’d stashed in the drawer.

Joe brings one knee up and hooks his hand beneath it to hold himself open. He can’t hear voices anymore, but then he can’t hear much now over the pounding of blood in his ears, watching Nicky slick up his fingers with a thoroughness that bodes very well for Joe in the near future.

“Do you think they’ve left yet?” Andy will know they want some time alone now, even if Nile doesn’t, and she’s always been good about giving them space when they need it.

“I don’t care,” Nicky answers, leaning over him with one hand braced on the bed beside Joe’s head. Joe thinks seriously about licking his bicep. He considers two-handed swords too heavy as a general rule, but he also isn’t going to complain about the way wielding one has shaped Nicky’s arms and shoulders.

He’s reminded of where Nicky’s other hand is at the cool, slippery stroke of lube along the crease of his arse, and then Nicky kisses him, his tongue and fingers opening Joe up in equally distracting ways, and he stops thinking so much.

They’ve done this a hundred thousand times before, with spit and oil and whatever else they had to hand, so Joe knows from experience how to relax and push into it, how Nicky’s fingers will curl and twist to stretch him open. He could be ready within a minute and hardly feel the burn, but he already knows that Nicky is going to take his time working him over, his touch careful and confident in equal measure.

Joe’s arms cross behind Nicky’s neck, holding him close, letting his fingers fall through Nicky’s hair. He pours himself into ardent kisses because if Nicky gets any ideas about where else he can put his tongue, they’re going to be here for hours, and Joe isn’t feeling that patient.

He lifts his hips when he’s had enough, pulling his knee closer to his chest, and Nicky is already shifting with him, anticipating Joe’s movement and reaching again for the lube. Joe is adjusting the angle of his hip, trying to settle comfortably with Nicky’s full weight pressing down on him, so while it’s not a surprise, he’s still caught off-guard by the pressure and stretch when Nicky eases forward.

They know each other too well to pause and wait. Nicky teases him open instead with steady movement, little shifts of his hips that draw a low groan from somewhere in Joe’s chest. The first true stroke, out and in again, makes Joe’s toes curl. His breath hitches and he meets Nicky’s gaze, which is fixed intently on him, drinking in whatever lovesick haze is playing over his face.

They fall into a rhythm even older than they are, the hush of the room filling with their panted breaths and the slap of skin. This is where Joe might whisper sweet nothings, in another mood, and if he had any spare breath left in him. Nicky isn’t giving him the chance, every roll of his hips calculated to push the air from Joe’s lungs so that all he can do is drag it in again.

Nicky is the one who finally speaks, and when he does, it’s not in English or Italian, but the now-archaic dialect they used when they were first fumbling to communicate in words. It’s a sweet sentiment, and would be romantic if Joe could string together more words than ‘yes’ and ‘more’ right now in his own tongue, let alone one they haven’t spoken in centuries.

He gets the gist after running it through a few times, which is something like, “It is the greatest privilege of my life to dance with you this way,” and he doesn’t know whether Nicky means the swordfight earlier, or the way they’re moving together now, or both, and he honestly doesn’t care. He draws his leg in tighter against his chest so that he can let go and cup the back of Nicky’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

In this position, Nicky’s abs are sliding sweetly over him, made slippery by their sweat and the way Joe is leaking now, desire increasing with each passing moment, growing more urgent.

“Nicolò, permettimi,” he gasps. There are times to be careful about maintaining aliases, and there are times he can’t even remember what names they’re using now, and this is one of the latter.

“Non ancora,” Nicky answers, because he is a bastard who Joe knows for a fact could do this just as well balanced on one arm and with his other hand put to better use.

Joe tries to find the words _hurry up then_ , if Nicky really isn’t going to let him come first, but he doesn’t have to. He feels the shift in Nicky’s rhythm to one he knows intimately, the single-minded drive to come. That alone nearly pushes him over the edge, but he bites his own shoulder and hangs on until Nicky’s rhythm stutters and breaks, and then he’s gone, washed over on cresting waves and crying out some combination of curses and Nicky’s name.

When he finally comes down, Nicky is braced over him on shaking arms, limp and panting. The best Joe can do to soothe him is to pat without much coordination at Nicky’s shoulder, which earns him a faint, tired smile.

Joe’s calf twinges in warning when Nicky’s weight eases back and he carefully separates them, petting Joe’s flank in apology for the aftershocks that jolt up Joe’s spine and make his stomach jump. Joe stretches out his leg and winces at the flare of pain from knee to ankle.

“I think I’ve pulled a muscle.”

Nicky flops down next to him, looking as wrung out as Joe feels. “You’ll heal.” One of his hands is already reaching for Joe, who catches it and presses it over his chest. Nicky’s fingers flex, relaxing at the steady thump of Joe’s slowing heartbeat.

Joe turns his head slightly, listening to the silence of the house. Nicky catches the movement and asks, “Do you think they are back?”

Privately, Joe thinks that right now both of them are still so raw they’d hear anyone come through the door, even lost in passion and each other, but he just shakes his head. “Nah. Andy will get dessert.”

Nicky nestles into his pillow, adjusting until he settles on the edge where he can see Joe’s face. They gaze at each other in silence for a moment, only Nicky’s little finger still moving restlessly against Joe’s chest until Joe strokes over it with his thumb.

“We could shower.” Nicky doesn’t sound as if he’s entirely convinced, more like he knows that if they don’t, they’ll later wish they had.

Joe’s level of motivation for moving right now is about the same. “I don’t think I can walk.”

Nicky considers this for a long moment. “I could carry you.”

“You think _you_ can walk?” Joe grins, and sees his expression mirrored in Nicky’s eyes.

Nicky’s smile is a small, soft thing, hidden at the corner of his mouth. Joe reaches out to touch it with a gentle finger, right where Nicky’s lips curve up into his cheek. “Stay here with me.”

Nicky watches him for another long moment. Joe watches him back. Then, without a word, Nicky rolls onto his side, putting his back to Joe and taking Joe’s arm with him. Joe settles in behind him, folding his arm more comfortably around Nicky’s chest so his palm rests over Nicky’s heart.

“Per sempre,” Nicky says, soft but clear, after Joe has nearly forgotten his request. Joe smiles and kisses the nape of his neck.

He must doze off in spite of the early hour, because the sound of the front door opening jerks him back to awareness, tense and alert. Under his arm, Nicky stops breathing until they hear, after a few seconds of whispering that must be Nile, Andy’s voice at normal volume, addressing Nile but pitched to set them at ease, letting them know they can stand down.

Joe can’t tell how much time has passed, but he’s not groggy, so they must not have been out for too long. He nuzzles into Nicky’s hair and closes his eyes again. “Hm. I think I was wrong about dessert.”

“Maybe they brought it back.” There’s an interested note in Nicky’s voice, one that reminds Joe neither of them have eaten since lunch, and it’s past dark now. They’ll have to get up eventually, have to leave this bed and rejoin the world. Not just yet, though.

Unless…

“Do you think they brought some for us?”


End file.
